A MERRY CHASE

by VICTORIA MALVEY

  Royce gave her a crooked smile. "When you say it like that, it sounds as if you're bidding me farewell."

  "Of course not," Laurel replied, keeping her reservations to herself.

  Mollified, Royce reached for his tea. "Might I escort you to Lord Cummings' party this evening?"

  Considering his offer, Laurel nodded slowly. "I believe I will attend. After all, Margaret is almost certain to be in attendance and I need to speak with her."

  "Speak with Margaret?" Royce exclaimed, sending tea sloshing over the edge of his cup before he set it down with a crash. "Why would you want to do that?"

  "Because I need to show both Margaret and Archie that they don't frighten me."

  "Don't be ridiculous, Laurel," Royce said, thrusting to his feet. "You don't need to prove anything to those two."

  "Perhaps you're right," she conceded, lifting her eyes to his. "Perhaps I need to prove it to myself."

  Taking another sip of tea, Laurel watched as Royce exploded into motion. Striding around the room, he vibrated with frustration. "Of all the silly—"

  "Pardon me, my lord," Laurel interrupted, rising as well. "But I wasn't asking for your approval."

  "I believe it is my right as your—"

  "As my what? My friend?" Laurel asked.

  Narrowing his eyes, Royce stepped closer. "As someone who only wants what is best for you."

  "I appreciate your concern, Royce, but I believe I am fit to judge what is best for me," Laurel replied quietly.

  "Of course you are, Laurel—"

  "If you could try to sound a bit less condescending, Royce, it might help me to believe you really mean what you say," she said wryly.

  Royce's exasperation became clear as he sighed loudly. "Let's not play this game, Laurel." Giving her a level look, he said, "I am asking you to stay at home this evening and not confront Margaret or Devens."

  Laurel shook her head. "I won't promise you anything."

  "Very well," Royce said firmly, moving toward the door. "Then I shall return this evening."

  "To make certain I remain at home?"

  He offered her a polite smile. "Of course not," he said blandly. "I simply enjoy your company."

  * * *

  "He's threatened to destroy me financially," Archie explained as he paced across the room. "He must be stopped."

  Watching Archie strut to and fro was making Margaret dizzy. "Do sit down, Archie," she snapped, pressing a hand to her temple. "I can't concentrate with you pacing about like a mad bull."

  "A mad bull?" retorted Archie, coming to an abrupt halt. "Well, pardon me! My welfare, my future, has just been threatened, so I'm entitled to pace if I bloody well feel like it."

  The anger in Archie's voice brought a smile to Margaret's face. "Ah, men, what predictable creatures you all are."

  "I beg to differ," he said stiffly. "Just last night I devised a clever plan to—"

  "What you did was sheer stupidity," Margaret corrected him harshly, "and I was more the fool for agreeing to help you!" She shook her head. "All your plan succeeded in doing was casting aspersions upon your name while putting Laurel Simmons in the roll of victim."

  "That's not true," Archie protested.

  "Oh, but it is." Drumming her fingers against the arm of her chair, Margaret tried to focus on what needed to be done. "You need to destroy her good name, not your own!"

  Archie glared down at her. "Which is precisely what I was doing! If she hadn't tripped and knocked me down, I would have kissed her in front of everyone. Now what do you think that would have done to her reputation?"

  "Absolutely nothing," Margaret pointed out. "It was quite apparent to all last evening that Laurel was an unwilling partner in the embrace. Your goal should have been to make everyone believe that she is so enamored of you that she'd ignore propriety and kiss you passionately in public."

  Understanding eased the angry lines on Archie's face. "Ahhh," he murmured, grinning broadly at her. "So even if she doesn't wish to spend time with me, if I can give the illusion that she does, then the gossips will feast upon her."

  "Precisely." Margaret smiled up at Archie. "Now, do sit down, so we might devise a plan."

  * * *

  Chapter 20

  « ^ »

  "I can't tell you how much it pleases me that you've come to your senses, Laurel," Royce said as he eased himself into a chair in the Simmons' parlor. "You seemed so determined to confront Margaret St. John."

  "I did, didn't I?" Laurel murmured with a soft smile.

  Her response made him wary. Despite the delicate image she portrayed in her stunning evening gown, Laurel was seldom, if ever, submissive … a fact that captivated him. "What made you change your mind about seeking Margaret out this evening?" he asked, allowing suspicion to creep into his voice.

  "Why, your compelling arguments, of course. What else could have done it?"

  Her eyes widened as she beamed innocently at him, yet he didn't believe her for a moment. However, before he could remark upon his suspicions, Laurel stood gracefully.

  "I'm parched," she announced. "I shall ring for tea."

  "More tea?"

  "One can never have too much," she replied airily. Moving toward the door, Laurel pulled the cord to summon a servant.

  The gentle sway of her skirts captured his attention. "You are dressed quite formally for an evening at home," he remarked softly.

  "This?" she asked with a laugh, holding out the lace edged skirt. "Don't be silly." Once again, she tugged upon the cord.

  Leaning back in his chair, Royce studied her even closer. "It looks like a new gown."

  "Of course it is," Laurel chided, shaking her head. "All of my other clothes were destroyed. Remember?"

  Chagrined, Royce nodded. "Of course. I forgot," he murmured.

  "What is keeping those servants?" Laurel muttered, giving the cord another tug. "Pardon me for a moment, Royce, while I order the tea."

  Without another word, Laurel slipped from the room, shutting the door behind her.

  Relaxing in his chair, Royce allowed his thoughts to drift while he awaited Laurel's return. All in all, things had turned quite handily in his favor. Just look how she'd taken his advice about Margaret.

  When the clock struck on the hour, Royce suddenly became aware of just how much time had passed; Laurel had been gone close to half an hour. Wondering what had happened to her, he wandered over to the pull cord, intent on summoning a servant to inquire about Laurel's whereabouts. He pulled on the cord and immediately realized something was awry.

  Glancing up, Royce froze, before leaning in to get a closer look. "Why, that little—"

  He broke off with a soft curse that turned into a quick chuckle. Shaking his head, Royce silently berated himself for not foreseeing her next move.

  His clever vixen had tampered with the pull cord, rendering it useless.

  Heading toward the kitchens, it didn't take Royce long to discover that Laurel had slipped out of the house. Her reason for deceiving him seemed obvious; she was going to confront Margaret.

  * * *

  Stepping into the ballroom, Laurel immediately searched for Margaret. She knew it wouldn't be long before Royce figured out that she'd tricked him. Her plan had worked beautifully and she reveled in the thrill of outsmarting Royce.

  It had alarmed her to realize just how much she'd been leaning upon him recently, so it felt wonderful to be striking out on her own once again. Suddenly, a blond head whirled by, capturing her attention. Margaret.

  Breaking off her thoughts, Laurel began to maneuver closer to her quarry. When the music ended, Margaret curtsied to her partner and allowed him to lead her to the edge of the dance floor. Seeing her opportunity, Laurel followed Margaret as she retired into the ladies' chamber.

  The room was crowded with women repairing their attire, but Laurel ignored them, focusing all of her attention upon Margaret. Taking a seat next to Margaret, Laurel patted her hair, adopting an air of innocence. "My," she said,
releasing her breath in a soft huff. "It certainly is warm this evening."

  Alarm flared briefly in Margaret's eyes. "Indeed," she agreed warily.

  Margaret's reaction proved to Laurel that Royce's intervention had been successful. Still, this was her battle to fight. "Perhaps it might be best if I sit out a few dances," Laurel murmured. "After all, it would hardly do to start tongues wagging." Widening her eyes, Laurel affected an innocent expression. "We both know how quickly a few bits of gossip, true or not, spread throughout the ton."

  Margaret narrowed her eyes, glaring at Laurel. "While that is true, I suspect no true lady would sink to such levels."

  "I don't know," Laurel continued. "I wouldn't underestimate anyone." Leaning forward, she added, "Some ladies can be most … vindictive."

  Margaret's expression darkened. "Are you referring to anyone in particular, Lady Laurel?"

  There was no missing the suspicious note in Margaret's voice. "Not at all," Laurel said in an offhanded manner. "Why, most anyone could be moved to seek revenge." She looked fully at the other woman. "Even me, for instance."

  Margaret slapped her fan onto the table before her and turned to face Laurel. "Let's cease this cat and mouse game, shall we?" Glancing around to ensure no one was close enough to overhear her, Margaret hissed. "Are you threatening me?"

  "Threatening you?" Laurel asked, forcing surprise into her question. "Whatever makes you think that?" She shook her head. "I was merely commenting on how anyone, even me, could be moved to seek revenge if properly motivated." Raising one finger, Laurel acted as if a thought had just struck her. "For instance, if someone, oh, let's say you, had harmed me or arranged for another to harm me, then even I might be tempted to inform others of your actions, thus creating a nasty bit of gossip that would irreparably damage your reputation."

  Margaret's gasp spoke volumes.

  Laurel smiled brightly at Margaret. "Luckily, I know I'll never be forced to participate in such unpleasantness." Rising, Laurel brushed at her skirts. "It was lovely having this chat with you."

  Lunging forward, Margaret grabbed hold of Laurel's wrist, curling her nails inward. "I know a threat when I hear one."

  Bending down, Laurel peeled Margaret's fingers away from her skin. "How very clever you are," she murmured dryly, before releasing Margaret's fingers.

  Laurel spun on her heel and walked from the room, pleased at the outcome of her little tête-à-tête. Threats, when properly applied, were oh, so satisfying.

  * * *

  Pleased with Margaret's response, Laurel stepped back into the ballroom and, glancing across the room, saw Archie standing near the gaining room. A frisson of anxiety slid down her spine, but Laurel forced it away.

  Gathering her courage, Laurel stepped briskly toward him.

  "Archie," she said by way of greeting, her voice a chill rasp.

  Surprise flashed upon his face, a brief glimpse before his features smoothed out into a practiced smile of welcome. "Laurel," he murmured. "What an unexpected surprise."

  "I'll wager it is," she agreed. "Might I have a word with you?"

  His smile dripped with smug pleasure. "Certainly." Holding out his hand, he gestured down the hallway. "Shall we?"

  Remembering all too clearly what had occurred the last time they were alone in a room, Laurel shook her head. "I would prefer the terrace."

  His mouth pinched into a frown. "But—"

  "The terrace, Archie," Laurel interrupted firmly.

  "Very well." Grasping her elbow, Archie escorted her outside.

  The moment they entered the cool night air, Laurel broke off the contact, shaking her arm free from his clasp.

  "I'm so pleased you sought me out," Archie murmured, his voice low and intimate.

  Laughing softly, Laurel shook her head. "I imagine you are." How could she have been afraid of this man even for a moment?

  His brows drew together. "I don't believe that is a compliment," he grumbled.

  "No, I don't believe it is," Laurel agreed. Waving her hand, Laurel decided to get to the point. "I wished to tell you that if you ever touch me or threaten me again, I shall be forced to take drastic measures."

  An ugly expression twisted his handsome features. "Drastic measures? Such as … what?"

  "Oh, I don't know," she murmured, "There are so many different methods to choose from."

  "I find that difficult to believe," he smirked, crossing his arms. "What could you possibly do to me?"

  Laurel played her high card. "If I smeared your name, then you would find it impossible to find yourself another heiress." She smiled at him, satisfaction warming her. "And remember that you told everyone that I cried off when our engagement was broken, so what do you think would happen if I explained my reasons behind calling off our engagement? What do you believe the mamas and their wealthy daughters would say if they knew how quickly you run through fortunes?"

  Vibrating with anger, Archie hissed, "You … you…"

  Lifting her chin, Laurel dismissed his anger without thought. "Whatever insulting name you settle upon, I assure you, my dear Lord Devens, that I shall accept it as a compliment."

  "Why, you little…" he began, reaching for her.

  As if dancing, Laurel stepped aside, ready for his move. "Ah, ah, ah, Archie. You wouldn't want to upset me."

  His gaze burned into hers. "You'll be sorry."

  "I highly doubt it," she retorted swiftly.

  A low growl escaped Archie as he pushed past her, heading back into the ballroom. After Archie presented her with his back, she giggled once, delighted at her success.

  "Please tell me that your elation has nothing to do with Devens' obvious displeasure." Leaning against the stone pillar on the porch, Royce waited for her response.

  Smiling gaily at him, Laurel tilted her head to look up at him. "And if it does?"

  "Then you leave me no choice but to be extremely annoyed with you." He crossed his arms. "And, my darling Laurel, considering the fact that you snuck out on me to track down Margaret and Devens, I assure you I'm already quite perturbed."

  "Should your disapproval bother me?" she asked lightly.

  "Feisty this evening, aren't you?"

  "Indeed," she agreed as she lifted her skirts to walk up the short flight of stairs. "I've been feeling out-of-sorts for a few days, but I'm back to my usual self now."

  "Lord help me," Royce murmured.

  "I believe He already has. After all, you found me, didn't you?" She paused beside Royce on the top step. "How did you find me so quickly?"

  Leaning closer, he gazed into her eyes. "Since you'd mentioned approaching Margaret at the Cummings' affair, it wasn't too difficult to figure out where you'd gone. Besides," he continued, "I know how you think, Laurel."

  His response couldn't have pleased her more. "You know me," she whispered.

  "Of course," he replied, straightening. "Remember, I studied you."

  The bubble of pleasure burst. "How could I forget?" Pushing aside the prick of pain, Laurel turned on her heel and headed for the house. "I should be getting back before anyone remarks upon my absence."

  "Not so fast," Royce said, catching hold of her elbow and bringing her to a stop. "You can't leave a gentleman waiting for tea, disappear without a word, and expect to escape without repercussions."

  "Ah, but there is one thing you're forgetting." Laurel smiled at Royce, before spinning away, breaking his hold. "First, you need to catch me."

  * * *

  Chapter 21

  « ^ »

  It took a full minute for Laurel's taunt to sink in. Torn between laughter and annoyance, Royce couldn't decide how to react. His vixen had returned in full force, leaving the tearful woman behind. Royce gunned at the realization. Yet, oddly enough, even though he enjoyed seeing Laurel in her bold glory, he couldn't forget the feel of her in his arms, soft and vulnerable. As much as she tried to deny it, he knew she needed him.

  Without further hesitation, Royce stepped into the ballroom to
search for Laurel. As always, the moment the eager mothers caught sight of him, they hurried over, each one singing the praises of her little angel.

  "Lord Van Cleef! How wonderful it is to see you," gushed Lady Rotham.

  Glancing down at one of the biggest gossips in the ton, Royce forced a smile onto his face. "The pleasure is all mine."

  Lady Rotham twittered at his polite rejoinder. "I fear I must naysay you, my lord, for you see I have been eager to speak with you." Leaning closer, she flipped open her fan, hiding behind the ivory depths. "What is this delicious news I hear that you've settled upon one special young lady?"

  At that moment, Royce caught sight of Laurel standing on the opposite side of the dance floor.

  She'd turned the mamas and their eager daughters loose on him again, just when he thought they'd tired of chasing after him. What would she do if he turned the tables on her?"

  Turning up the intensity of his smile, Royce leaned down toward Lady Rotham. "It's true," he confided in a whisper. "Though you know, I'm sure, that I've remained silent as to the lady's identity."

  Lady Rotham's eyes widened, eagerness shimmering in their gray depths, looking like a hungry cat preparing to pounce upon a fat, juicy mouse. "Oh, do tell, Lord Van Cleef." Pressing a hand against her chest, she assured him, "I will keep your confidence."

  "Of course you will," he returned, pausing a moment in mock hesitation. Finally, he bent closer still. "The lady I plan to marry is none other than the beautiful Lady Laurel Simmons."

  The expression on Lady Rotham's face reflected her delight at having learned the ultimate bit of gossip. Royce was certain his tidbit would spread like wildfire throughout the ton, thereby boxing Laurel into his snare. While he had promised himself he'd put aside the game and approach Laurel with nothing but honesty in his heart, desperate times called for desperate measures.

  Straightening, he nodded slowly. "I trust I can hold you to confidence."

  "Oh, most certainly," returned Lady Rotham. "I wouldn't tell another soul."